And, Autumn. And, Saturday Mornings. WORD.


Rumi said,
There is no proof of the soul.
But isn’t the return of spring
and how it springs up in our hearts
a pretty good hint?

~ Mary Oliver, Whistling Swans. Felicity: Poems

Only the Winds

Ólafur Arnalds, 28, is a multi-instrumentalist and producer from Mosfellsbær, Iceland. Ólafur Arnalds mixes strings and piano with loops and edgy beats crossing-over from ambient/electronic to pop.

  • His official web site can be found here.
  • This song can be found on iTunes on his 2013 Album titled For Now I Am Winter

Related Posts: Olafur Arnaulds

Saturday Morning


I come into this small room and take a seat on the floor.
I don’t expect miracles.
But I have given myself a sacred space,
and now I simply offer myself the even greater gift of time to use it.
Someday, perhaps, something will happen here.
For now, I love this room,
this emptiness, the fading light, my own quiet company.
I am learning, by sitting, to become,
in the words of Terry Tempest Williams,
“a caretaker of silence, a connoisseur of stillness, a listener of wind.”

~ Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment 


What are these words worth?

September, October,

What are these words worth?
Who else would believe
these trees &
this sun &
this Aeolian gust?
Amen again.

~ Nate Pritts, “Feelings, Associated,” Right Now More Than Ever: Poems

Credits: Poem – the distance between two doors. Photo: We Heart It.  Bio/website: Natt Pritts

Saturday Morning


anywhere in wind.
What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, not a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: to sit here,
To take no part, to be called away by wind…

~ Robert Bly, “The Call Away,” Like the New Moon, I Will Live My Life

Notes: Poem Source – The Distance Between Two Doors. Photo – Come as you are

Saturday (September)

“It was September.  In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.  The beach was so long and lonely with only about six people on it.  The kids quit bouncing the ball because somehow the wind made them sad, too, whistling the way it did, and the kids sat down and felt autumn come along the endless shore.

All of the hot-dog stands were boarded up with strips of golden planking, sealing in all the mustard, onion, meat odors of the long, joyful summer.  It was like nailing summer into a series of coffins.  One by one the places slammed their covers down, padlocked their doors, and the wind came and touched the sand, blowing away all of the million footprints of July and August.  It got so that now, in September, there was nothing but the mark of my rubber tennis shoes and Donald and Delaus Arnold’s feet, down by the water curve.

Sand blew up in curtains on the sidewalks, and the merry-go-round was hidden with canvas, all of the horses frozen in mid-air on their brass poles, showing teeth, galloping on.  With only the wind for music, slipping through canvas. […]

I ran.  Sand spun under me and the wind lifted me.  You know how it is, running, arms out so you feel veils from your fingers, caused by wind.  Like wings.

~ Ray Bradbury, The Lake


A Murmur. Yes, Maybe.


For once
the mocking, predictable voice
inside my head that says “No way”
is silent.
In fact, I think I can just barely make out
some other, quieter voice, whispering,

― Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment

Photograph: Anka Zhuravleva (“Ginger“)



Time to, Begin. Move the blood.


A new place.
Awakened eye
Seeing freshly.
What does that do to
The old blood moving through
Its channels?

~ Naomi Shihab Nye, Fresh from You & Yours

Notes: Poem: Thank you Whiskey River. Gif: bakabt from Sound! Euphonium

Miracle? All of it. 


I hear the wind blow,
And I feel that it was worth being born
just to hear the wind blow.

~ Fernando Pessoa, from “Uncollected Poems

Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

Notes: Poem excerpt: Your Eyes Blaze Out. Photo: Ines Perkovic (via Simplicidade do Ceu)

Zephyr (ZƐF ƏR)


ZEPHYR (ZƐF ƏR), noun.

Deemed one of the most beautiful words in the English language due to its euphony, rare sighting and letter composition, Zephyr is described as a gentle, mild breeze. It does not disrupt, nor cause chaos, it merely brings a pleasant sensation on a warm summer day.


Notes: Definition source: Words N Quotes. Photo: Here’s to the crazy ones (Breeze by Igor Egorov)